


Mad, Mad Love

by thinlizzy2



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Blood, Consensual Blood Drinking, Dark Magic, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/pseuds/thinlizzy2
Summary: Who says love has to be soft and gentle? Or even remotely sane?
Relationships: Drusilla/Willow Rosenberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Little Black Dress Exchange 2020





	Mad, Mad Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).



Drusilla comes home long before the sun is up.

There had been a time when she'd been much more of a night owl. The pretty moon had whispered its enticements to her, and she had followed its call almost to the very edges of smoky, dusty danger. The humans had been luscious, but astonishingly unfulfilling, each one more a breath than a meal. And so she had needed another, and then another, and then _please Daddy, please Grandmother, just one more_ until only the threat of bright yellow doom had been enough to drive her back indoors.

But now she only needs the scuttering little snacks to take the edge off. She has something far more satisfying at home.

Willow keeps to her hours now. When Drusilla enters, the clock is marking 2am and it's barely lunch for her precious one. Drusilla loves that; it's another small proof that Willow is entirely hers.

She can never get enough of those.

Willow puts her book aside with obvious reluctance, and Drusilla immediately hates the text. The book is Willow's, Drusilla herself gave it to her, but Willow is Drusilla's. Her loyalty should be far more clearly defined then this.

But Willow did ultimately make the right choice. So Drusilla doesn't need to remind her of the order of things at the moment. She can save that for a special occasion. Perhaps their anniversary.

Willow kisses her, and that's always a thrill. She had forgotten how it is to kiss a consenting human. The warmth of Willow's mouth, the pulse beating in her lips and tongue, the delicate living hands curling in Drusilla's hair.

She is delectable.

"What did you bring me?" Willow asks as she pulls away. And Drusilla beams at her, her greedy little darling. They are such similar creatures, she thinks, driven by their own insatiable appetites. It's gloriously right that they have each other; no one else could satisfy.

Drusilla pulls amulets from her pockets like a kindly uncle on Christmas morning. "Sweets for my sweet", she coos as Willow's eyes light up. "Dark little droplets of power for my dark little droplet."

Willow clutches a piece of intricately carved jade. "You must have found a very powerful coven."

Drusilla nods. "They tasted like figs. Absinthe. Wallpaper paste."

Willow kisses her again, more deeply. Her warm willing body presses fully against Drusilla's cold one, like embracing a sunbeam. And that's how it should be; love should always be a little bit like death and death should always be tinged with love. It makes them both so much richer.

"Thank you." Willow whispers the words against Drusilla's neck, right where her pulse would be if she had a heartbeat. "I love these."

"And me." Drusilla reminds her. "You love me."

"Of course." Willow is nonchalant as she moves to turn back to her new toys.

Drusilla stops her, just a touch of pain in the grip on her arm. "Say it."

Willow, always the consummate student, studies her face. Clever girl that she is, she makes the right choice. "Not yet."

She pulls her shirt off, and Drusilla's eyes widen. That expanse of golden living skin, freckles dotting her flesh like flecks of cinnamon on vanilla cream. Willow hadn't bothered with a bra for her night of reading, and her nipples are deliciously pink little peaks. It has been months of this, or maybe years, but Willow still never fails to make her mouth water. 

"Come here." Willow beckons her closer. "Taste how I feel."

Willow's skin breaking under her fangs is always miraculous. A maidenhead taken, every time. And then the taste of Willow fills her mouth, as much magic as blood, and there's nothing like it in the world. Ancient power and young woman, iron and ozone, mortality and its eternal opposite. Drusilla is reminded of deep-sea fishes that fuse into their lovers, dissolving against them until they share a bloodflow. She envies them in moments like this.

But she has to keep herself separate, keep her tenuous grip on her control. If she takes too much, she could take all of Willow away from herself, and that would ruin them both. So just one more taste, for now. And maybe another. "Now!" The command drives her teeth deeper into Willow's wounded skin, and she hears her lover gasp. "Say it now!"

And Willow, entirely Drusilla's in this moment that will last forever, complies. "I love you."


End file.
